SCP Headcanons

Not a Headcanon- Unintentional murderer

I heard the door open, then the sound of footsteps entering my room. Probably the cleaners.

The footsteps stop. I feel a shadow looming over me. Someone's watching me, but with me facing the wall, I can't tell who.

"I'm just a toaster.", I hear someone say.

Oh. Oh please no. Please not another one.

I feel myself being picked up and turned around. I am then faced with my holder. He was tall, slight tan, and wearing an orange uniform. A look of suspicion and distrust clearly visible on his face.

I don't blame him. With how the others reacted, it appeared there were more dangerous things outside of these grey walls.

He set me down and walked over to one of the walls.
There was a camera, close enough for me to see it but far enough for whoever was on the other side to not see me.

"Alright, I've been in here long enough to know how shit like this works.", The man said, talking to the camera. No one answered him as he talked on.

"I'm probably gonna make my guts set of fire or some other crap if I so much as pull my handle, right? Or, or what,"

He continued to list off other obscene theories as to what I may do; and it's moments like these I wish I could just tune others out.

.
.
.

It's been a very long time, probably days, maybe weeks. Time is hard to track without clocks or windows.

By now the man's believed himself to be a toaster too. He just sits there, making himself as much as a rectangle as possible. He's also really malnourished, not having eaten anything in a long time.

If he keeps this up, he's going to die. And it will be my fault. It's always my fault, whether I ment it or not.

What happened with that family, with those other people, it was never my intention.

I wanted to be helpful. I wanted to help prepare meals for people.
I never wanted them to die because of me. Because they thought they could be me.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the door open once again. Two people in armor enter and drag the man away. He doesn't push, scream, bite, he doesn't react.

As the doors to my room close, I feel relief wash over me.

At least he didn't die, or if he eventually does, at least I won't be around to witness it.

No matter how much I wish I could, when it comes to these murders, I can't stop it.
I have no say over what occurs, the only thing I can do is sit and hope for the best.
And if one's blood is to spill, I have to learn to take the blame.